


Dirty Little Mind Games

by mynameisnoneya



Series: Dirty Little Birdy [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Characters Writing Fanfiction, Christmas Fluff, Computer Guys, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Love Confessions, Love/Hate, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Office Jobs, Office Party
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2019-09-22 15:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17062448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameisnoneya/pseuds/mynameisnoneya
Summary: For weeks, Sansa Stark has been hoping that her clandestine lover, Sandor Clegane, will ask her to the office Christmas party at Lannister Industries so they can go public with their affair.  With only hours and counting until the main event, will the two frenemies with benefits actually come clean?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by a previous work which I posted last year, _Dirty Little Secrets_. Once again, I am posting a fun fic for my Tumblr friend, @carobaldoni, since today is her birthday. Happy birthday, @carobaldoni - I hope you enjoy this crazy little story about how two people who are afraid to confess their feelings for each other finally fess up!
> 
> Please note that I made sure to tag any and all characters that appear in this work, whether they have a speaking role or not. 
> 
> General disclaimer: GoT characters and quotes belong to GRMM - I own nor claim nothing!
> 
> If you enjoyed this work, please let me know by leaving comments and kudos!

 

Teetering precariously from the top rung of a very tall stepladder, Sansa Stark wished that at any given minute, she would slip and fall to an early demise.  Tonight was the annual Christmas party here at Lannister Industries, and like all the other employees within the enormous conglomerate, she was expected to pitch in and to help turn the place into a winter wonderland.  For the last three hours straight, she’d been tirelessly toiling away like an elf in Santa’s workshop as she and several other hapless victims selected to serve on the “hospitality committee” meticulously decorated the conference room and adjacent break room.  Now saddled with a set of aching shoulders and a stiff neck, all Sansa wanted to do was take a blowtorch to the remaining mounds of prickly red and green garland still waiting to be hung.

When the irritated redhead ceased her efforts for the moment, she glanced about the office.  The whole place was buzzing with excitement.  Everyone seemed so full of yuletide cheer today.  Even Cersei, her direct supervisor, had been overcome by the holiday hoopla this morning when she’d actually bestowed a tiny amount of praise upon Sansa after her team’s presentation to Martell Designs.

While contemplating why everyone seemed so damned happy today, Sansa grimaced when Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel skittered past her, the pair giggling like a couple of silly high school girls planning for prom night instead of a Christmas party.  Of course, those two idiots would have a date.  Who didn’t?  It seemed like _everyone_ at Lannister Industries was bringing someone to the party tonight.  Even Margaery, who loved to fly solo in the hopes of finding a new conquest, was going to the Christmas party with Bronn, the well-sated head of security whom she’d recently promoted from fuck buddy to boyfriend status.

But did Sansa have a date?

Nope.

No, she didn’t.

And why was that, exactly?

Well, that was because Sandor Clegane, the grand wizard of dorkdom at Lannister Industries, hadn’t bothered to ask her yet.

Sansa shook her head in frustration while thinking about that hairy beast of a boss currently lurking down in the dungeons of the IT Department.  Ever since that fateful day when she’d confronted him in his office, she and Sandor had been shacking up on the sly like nobody’s business.  They’d been having the most raunchy, steamy sex she’d ever experienced.  The man might be almost seven feet tall and built like a brick wall, but _damn. . ._ he was flexible.  Together they’d polished almost every flat surface of her apartment.

And it was thanks to her extremely physical encounters with Sandor that Sansa’s fanfiction writing had soared.  Since secretly hooking up with the massive man, she’d been overcome with inspiration.  She’d already cranked out more one-shots and updates to her works in progress than she’d managed to put out in the last six months combined.  _Game of Drones_ might be on hiatus until its last season aired in the spring, but she was on fire.  Her subscriptions were going through the roof lately, and her followers on Tumblr were at their record high.  Life was definitely going well for this fangirl fanfiction writer.

Except that Sandor, a summa cum laude graduate from MIT, was apparently too dense to realize that he was supposed to ask her to the office Christmas party.  How was that even possible?  For weeks now, she’d been dropping hints like anvils, yet he’d still not gotten a clue.

At first, she’d tried a subtle approach like when she’d snuck a copy of the memo from corporate about the pending party into his messenger bag while he was taking a shower.

Nothing.

Then, she’d tried something slightly more obvious like when she’d gone on and on about how wonderful it was that Bronn had asked Margaery to go with him and she’d said yes.

Nothing again.

When that hadn’t worked, she’d all but asked Sandor to the Christmas party herself when she’d asked him point-blank a few days ago what he thought she should wear to the event.

Still nothing.

Sansa glanced at the wall clock ticking away by the window overlooking the heavy mid-afternoon traffic here in downtown King’s Landing.  Closing time was looming, and still Sandor hadn’t come through.

_What in the hell is he waiting for, anyway?_

Grumbling under her breath, she got back to work, juggling both the tape dispenser and the wad of garland in her well-manicured hands.  As she leaned in for the kill, stretching as far as she could to reach the crown molding, she heard the distinct sound of someone tutting their tongue.

“Tsk, tsk, Miss Stark,” the deep voice rumbled, “you really must rethink your choice of attire before you engage in such an activity in public again.”

Swiftly, Sansa stopped, turning her attention toward the very, _very_ tall man in the fitted black polo and dress slacks currently eyeballing her.  Of course, it had to be now.  The first time she’d seen Sandor all day, and he had to catch her with her ass in the air.

“Do you make it a habit of going around the office and looking up ladies’ skirts?” she huffed.

Pondering his reply, he pulled his bottom lip under the top row of his teeth right before he fired his next salvo.

“Considering my size, the opportunity rarely presents itself.  Today must be my lucky day.”

When his tongue peeked out to trace his lower lip, Sansa’s eyes widened.  Forcing herself to remain calm even though her pulse was beginning to thrum, she made a show of scoffing at him.

“I wouldn’t be sure about that, buddy.”

“Oh, I’m quite sure it will be once I get you alone.”

Sansa’s ginger brows almost flew off her face.  Quickly, her eyes darted around the office.  They were in plain sight.  Anyone within five paces could easily overhear him.  With Sandor blatantly staring at her butt, she involuntarily clenched her thighs together.  He was looking at her rump like a man hell-bent on having his way with it, and damn her for wishing he would.

“So, why are you up here, anyway?”  She tried to sound indifferent but wasn’t sure she pulled it off.  “Shouldn’t you be in Nerd Town barking orders at your minions?”

To her surprise, Sandor didn’t take the bait as usual.  In the blink of an eye, his entire snarky, self-assured persona shifted gears.  Nervously, he shuffled on his oversized feet while clearing his throat.

“I came up here because I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh, really?”  Still clutching the tape dispenser and garland, Sansa propped her hands on her curvy hips.

He dropped his gaze to his leather shoes.  “I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now,” he continued, “but I wasn’t sure you’d agree.”

Now Sansa was good and curious.

“Agree to _what_?”

“I. . .”  Sandor just couldn’t get his act together.  He wouldn’t even look her in the eye, which was odd considering he’d already looked at her naked body in just about every imaginable angle possible.  “That is to say, I’d like to know if. . .if. . .”

While he fidgeted and fumbled about like a shy, awkward teenage boy, Sansa’s eyes narrowed.  He was definitely acting weird, even for a Trekkie.  She couldn’t remember a time she’d seen the massive man at a loss for words.  Before she analyzed the situation any further, the proverbial lightbulb went off inside her head.

_Woah, wait a minute.  Hold the phone.  Is Sandor about to ask me what I think he’s going to ask me?_

This was it.  Sandor was going to ask her to the party.  She just knew it.  That must be why he was freaking out.  He was acting more forward than he’d ever been with her in a public setting, let alone the work place, since they’d started sleeping together.  Thanks to their continued snark battles at work, everyone at Lannister Industries still functioned under the assumption that the boss from IT and the babe from marketing despised one another.  Neither one of them had lifted a finger to dissuade their coworkers from thinking otherwise.  Margaery knew, of course, as did Bronn, but those two had been sworn to secrecy under pain of death.

Sansa’s mouth curved at the corners.  If Sandor asked her to the party, then that meant they would be going public.  No more cloak and dagger; no more smoke and mirrors.  It meant that they were _thisclose_ to taking the next step in whatever this thing between them was called.  The catfighting couple was about to come clean. . .oh, their reveal tonight would be absolutely epic.  It would become the stuff of office legend.  And the delicious punishment she’d give Sandor after the party for making her wait so long to be asked was something right out of one of her fanfics.

“Yes?”  She should’ve kicked herself in the ass for how breathless she sounded, but she was way too worked up to worry about that right now.

“I was wondering. . .if you’d consider. . .”

“If I would consider _what_?”  Her whole body was coiled like a spring.  Her stomach was doing flips, and she was finding it difficult to keep her giddiness in check. 

Taking a deliberate breath, Sandor exhaled in a whoosh before he spoke.  “I was wondering if you’d consider taking care of Stranger for me next weekend.”

The enormous, cheesy smile of anticipation plastered on Sansa’s face faded instantly.  “Come again?”

“I’d asked if you’d take care of Stranger for me.”

Sansa blinked.  “You want me to take care of Stranger?”

“He’s not all that much trouble, really.”  Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Sandor crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“You want me to take care of your _cat_?”

“I’ll only be gone Friday night and part of Saturday,” he continued, “and aside from feeding him, you’d just need to scoop out his - ”

“That’s it?  That’s your question?”  Sansa could feel her cheeks burning and her hands beginning to shake.  This couldn’t be happening.  This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

Sandor narrowed his perplexed gray eyes at her, obviously clueless why she looked like her head might explode any second.  “I’m sensing that you’re mad at me - ”

“Well, ‘duh,’ Einstein!”

“ – yet I have no idea why.”  Scratching behind his neck, he sighed heavily.  “I don’t suppose you’d care to enlighten me as to what I did wrong this time?”

“Golly, gee, I don’t know,” she hissed through tightly gritted teeth, “maybe I was expecting something else?”

Sandor looked utterly confused.  “Something else?”

“Yeah, something _else_.”  Although she knew her voice was rising to a fever pitch, Sansa couldn’t stop herself.  Her rage was simmering just this side of a pyroclastic blast.  She just might spontaneously combust if he kept standing there, staring at her like a doe in the headlights.  And now that her colleagues were also starting to stare at the two of them as the scene escalated, she could feel a bead of sweat forming at her temple.

After a few seconds passed, Sandor snapped his fingers.  “Of course.  How rude of me.”

_Finally!_

_“_ I’ll be happy to pay you for your trouble,” he added with a smile as if he’d deciphered an ancient hieroglyph.

Sansa’s heartrate skyrocketed.  The room began to spin on its axis.  Life as she knew it was coming to a screeching halt.  It was official; Sandor really had no clue.  He hadn’t come up here to ask her to the office party, and as of right now, she was quite certain that he never would.

This was _so_ not how it was supposed to go.

“Are you for real?”  Sansa growled under her breath as she launched her huge handful of garland at his face.  “I can’t believe you!”

As he silently stood there buried under a giant mound of itchy tinsel, Sandor’s calm, cool demeanor snapped.  “You know what?” he seethed while yanking the garland off him and throwing it to the floor, “I’ll just ask Bronn to do it.  Forget I even asked.”  With that parting comment, he abruptly spun on his heels and stomped down the corridor.

“Fine!” Sansa yelled at his broad back.

“Fine!”

“Good!”

“Yeah, good!” he shouted over his shoulder as he rounded the corner and disappeared from sight.

Still seething from her vantage point on the step ladder, Sansa’s bright blue eyes danced across the open floor plan of the office.  Several folks by the water cooler had frozen in place in confusion, their mouths gaping and their hands poised with water cups mid-air.  A few terrified ladies from the “hospitality committee” were peering at the scene from behind the imagined safety of their stuffed snowmen and light-up reindeer.

 _Terrific.  Just terrific_.

Defiantly, Sansa lifted her chin.  She donned her fakest of fake smiles as she descended the steep ladder as fast as a professional woman in pumps could manage.  When her feet hit the floor, she briskly marched past the crowd of puzzled onlookers, pausing only to shove the tape dispenser still in hand at one of the “committee” members, and headed straight toward the sanctuary of her office.

“This is _so_ not over,” she snarled as she entered her office and slammed the door shut with her foot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to a phone conversation with Margaery, Sansa not only decides to take the proverbial bull by the horns by asking Sandor to the party herself, she also has herself one first-class epiphany regarding her true feelings for the ginormous techie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since I've visited this Sansan universe! I hope those of you who've subscribed are still hanging on for the ride. And for those of you who may be here for the first time, welcome!
> 
> I also need to give a big shout out to vivilove for being the best beta a girl could ask for - love ya!

As she rocked back and forth in her swivel chair like she’d done for the last hour, Sansa was staring out of her office window, mindlessly tapping her pen on her desk while thinking about her very public scuffle with Sandor.

When initially sequestered in her office, she’d paced like a caged animal.  She wanted to march downstairs to Sandor’s computer lair and dispense a what-for on him like he’d never seen, yet she quickly dismissed that option.  Whenever they argued, it didn’t take long before an apology appeared, promptly followed by a delicious round of make-up sex.  There was no way in hell she was going to give him the satisfaction of knowing she’d given in first this time.

Still fuming, she decided to distract herself by channeling her frustration into getting some work done, but alas, analyzing market research data hadn’t taken her mind off the massive man.  Determined not to focus on him any longer, she’d shoved her work to the side, booting up her laptop to edit her latest raunchy saga about Rory and Sophie, her two favorite characters from _Game of Drones_.  Rereading her smut-filled romp, however, didn’t do the trick either.  In fact, it only made it next to impossible to do anything _but_ think about her furry lover.

Glancing at her cell phone resting next to her computer, she inhaled and exhaled slowly.  Soon it would be closing time, and since their embarrassing little tête-a-tête not so long ago, she hadn’t heard a peep out of him.  No texts, no phone calls. . .nothing.  Nothing but good old-fashioned dead air. 

Sansa shook her head.  She had no idea why it was taking him so long to haul his ass upstairs and fix things today.  How could he be so good between the sheets yet so bad at figuring out what she wanted outside the bedroom?

Her self-reflection was interrupted when her office phone rang.

 _Oh, thank God,_ she thought as she dropped her pen and launched forward, assuming it was Sandor when she jerked the receiver off the base without bothering to see who it was.

“Tell me you went down to his office and sorted it out,” Margaery spoke the second after Sansa had said hello. 

“Wait, what?”  Though Sansa had wanted to hole up in her colleague’s office after the argument this afternoon, she couldn’t.  Like the rest of the Accounting Department, Margaery had been set free right after lunch, which meant Sansa was left to ruminate on Sandor’s lack of perception skills all by herself.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“How do you even know about what happened?”

“I have my sources.”

The confused redhead sat in silence.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.”  Sansa could almost see Margaery’s exasperated eye roll through the phone.  “Bronn called me.” 

“But he wasn’t even up here when - ”

“Gossip travels faster than the speed of light in that place.  You ought to know that by now.”

“Oh, great. . .”  Sansa slumped in her chair.  This was just what she needed after the day she’d been having.  She knew exactly what being ground in the office gossip mill was like, thanks to her brief stint dating Joffrey.  Talk about a fun time _that_ had been.

“Now you listen to me,” Margaery continued.  “I want you to haul your butt out of that office and go ask him to the stupid party yourself.”

Sansa gasped.  “You want me to _what_?”

“You heard me.  Quit dicking around.”

Sansa’s baby blues almost bugged out of her head.  “No way!  I’m not doing that!”

“And why not?”

“Because. . .”  Sansa hesitated.  She really didn’t want to publicly acknowledge how petty she was behaving, even though deep down she knew that Margaery was already on to her.

“Tick tock, Stark. . .”

Sansa pursed her lips.  It was no use.  Margaery saw right through her like always.

“Because if I do that,” Sansa grumbled, “then I concede defeat.”

“‘Defeat?’  Really?  This again?”

Sansa grimaced while remembering the Monday morning she’d come into work after dumping Joffrey.  Without warning, Cersei, smug and haughty as always, had appeared in her office.  Sansa had assumed she was about to be fired, so imagine her surprise when the older woman had offered her dating advice instead.

“Yeah, defeat.  ‘In the game of love, you win or lose.  There is no middle ground.’  Don’t you remember?”

Margaery groaned.  “ _Please_ tell me that you’re not actually listening to Cersei.”

“And why shouldn’t I?”  Sansa pouted like a petulant child.  “The more I think about it, the more it seems true.” 

Margaery was quiet for a few beats before she released a heavy sigh.  “Well, at least we’ve made progress.”

“Progress?”  Sansa huffed.  “I don’t see any progress.”  Progress meant she’d be hurrying home in a few minutes to get ready for the party.  This was definitely not progress.

“You’ve finally admitted that you’re in love with him,” Margaery said without introduction.  “I consider that progress.”

Sansa’s ginger brows jumped to her hairline.  Immediately her mouth opened to argue, but for once, nothing came.  Though she desperately wanted to disagree, she couldn’t.  Instead, she just sat there with her mouth gaping, her lips refusing to cooperate as her mind processed her buddy’s profound proclamation.

_Me?  In love with Sandor?_

Truth be told, Sansa had come to enjoy their time spent together while fully clothed as much as when not, and though she hadn’t admitted it to anyone yet, what had started out as pure, animalistic lust _had_ developed into something deeper.  She still might get off on the sparks ignited by their workplace showdowns, but that was beside the point.  She wanted more.  She _needed_ more.

“You still there?” Margaery asked.

Sansa blinked.  “Yeah, I’m just. . .”  As her words trailed off, she fell back into her office chair while digesting her confidant’s words.

Somewhere along the way, her yet-to-be-defined relationship with the fantasy/sci-fi aficionado had become so. . .domestic _._ Long ago they’d left a change of clothes and a toothbrush at each other’s place once sleepovers had become the norm.  Now that they no longer left right after the deed was done, they ordered in and watched television together.  And to top it all off, sometimes when they hung out these days, they didn’t even have sex.  Just last week while she was sitting at his computer desk in his apartment, right smack-dab in the middle of helping him edit his end of the year report to corporate, he’d volunteered to come over and install a sound system in her living room for her.

Sansa’s pulse was racing, her heart pounding like a drum as her budding self-awareness bloomed.  Margaery was right.  Maybe that’s why going to the Christmas party had become so damn important to her.  It’s not like she cared a lick about the stupid thing.  And maybe, just maybe, that’s why she’d been agonizing relentlessly all these weeks while hoping Sandor would ask.  Walking into the party on his very muscled arm wouldn’t just be her announcement to the rest of the world that she was knocking boots with him.  It very well might be her announcement to the world that she was in. . .in. . .

_Holy crap!  How did I not see it?_

“Please, just go talk to him,” Margaery spoke, gentler and more patient than before.  “If you’re not ready to tell him how you feel, then at least tell him that you want him to be your date.”

“But. . .”

“But what?”

“But what if he says no?  I mean, he’s had weeks to ask me.”

“So. . .”

“So maybe he doesn’t want to go with me because he’s happy with things the way they are.  Maybe he just wants the sex part and that’s it.  Then what?  I’ll look like a complete moron.”  Sansa winced at how whiny she sounded.  Good grief.  Now she wasn’t just petty – she was pathetic, too.

Margaery went silent.  “You’re serious?” she finally asked.  “You really don’t think he feels the same way about you?”

Sansa worried her bottom lip but said nothing.

“Alright, let’s do the math, shall we?” Margaery began with an air of authority on the subject.  “Sandor’s been secretly boning one of the sexiest ladies in Westeros for months now.  Do you _really_ think he’d say no to being seen in public with you for once?”

Sansa thought that over for a second or two.  “I guess not.”

“And correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you tell me that he rubs your feet?”

“Oh yeah,” Sansa nodded even though Margaery couldn’t see her, “he always does that when we’re watching a movie.”

“And he likes to snuggle after sex?”

“You wouldn’t think that, would you?”  Sansa couldn’t help but giggle a bit after hearing that one repeated back to her.

“And didn’t he offer to fix your brother’s laptop for you when you mentioned it wasn’t working?” Margaery added.

A tiny wisp of a smile skittered across Sansa’s face.  “Yeah, he did.  He didn’t even charge Robb for fixing it, either.”

“So, what in the hell are you waiting for?” Margaery all but shouted into the phone.  “Get down there and fix _this_!”

“Yes, ma’am!"  In a rush of self-confidence, Sansa hopped to her feet like a ninja about to complete a mission.  Excited yet slightly overwhelmed at the realization she was in love with the ginormous techie, the redhead slammed the receiver onto its base then yanked her purse from her desk drawer, throwing her cell phone inside.  She grabbed her heavy winter coat from the hook behind her office door and rushed out as fast as her working-woman heels would carry her.

Down, down the lift she descended, all the while chastising herself for playing such a stupid little mind game with Sandor.  Though she assumed she’d made it obvious to him over the last several weeks that she was ready to come clean about their relationship, she hadn’t.  In fact, all of her hemming and hawing about going to the Christmas party may have had the opposite effect.  It might’ve scared him shitless – if _he_ thought all she wanted was the sex part, then why would he dare ask her to the party in the first place?

Watching the lights tick down her descent to the computing dungeon, she steadied her breathing.  She was so going to do this.  She was going to confess.  She was a grown woman, for goodness sake.  She was a professional lady who wasn’t afraid to take the proverbial bull by the horns either in the board room or in the bedroom.  It was high-time that she took charge of the situation.  Enough was enough.  The time for subtly was gone.

When the lift doors finally opened, Sansa gritted her teeth as she headed straight for the glass doors leading to the IT Department.  Sandor was a smart man.  When she was through with him, it would be as plain to him as the hooked nose on his face.


End file.
